


Anchorage

by KiaraSayre



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Kolinahr, M/M, Multi, New Vulcan, Spock Vs. Feelings, Star Trek Into Darkness AU, Vulcan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-01-19
Packaged: 2018-01-09 07:14:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1143074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiaraSayre/pseuds/KiaraSayre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock during the war with the Klingons.</p><p>Star Trek Into Darkness AU where there is no John Harrison; see end notes for detailed warnings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anchorage

**Author's Note:**

> See the notes at the end for detailed spoilery warnings: some archive warnings apply. If there's something you think I should warn for that I missed, let me know and I'll add it in!
> 
> Many thanks to Gina and Ari for encouragement and feedback! Title comes from Marian Call's song "Anchorage."

i. 2259.56

Spock, like most Starfleet personnel, maintains a small apartment in San Francisco for use when he's not off-world. It's close to the campus of the Academy; he is often asked to give lectures on Vulcan language and culture when he's on Earth, due to his unique perspective, and the ease of access was useful when he was teaching.

It was, and continues to be, quite convenient for Nyota to have her own key, although perhaps not today.

When he enters, she's sitting in one of the armchairs, a picked-at bowl of grapes at her elbow and a PADD resting against her tucked-up knees. She looks up as Spock enters, smiling but not standing up.

"Welcome back," she says. "Anything exciting happen at Command?"

Spock places his hat on the hook by the door with what even he recognizes is excessive care. "I scarcely know where to begin."

Nyota turns off her PADD and turns towards Spock with interest. "Oh?" she says, her tone playful. "Good or bad?"

Spock looks her in the eye for the first time, and the half-smiling curve to her mouth melts away. "Okay," she says, "bad. How bad?"

Spock stays where he is by the door. Unfortunately, the transit back to the apartment had given him time to prepare what he would say. "There were discrepancies between the Captain's account of what happened on Nibiru and mine."

That pulls Nyota out of the chair. "Discrepancies? What's that supposed to mean?"

"The contents of my report and the Captain's did not match."

Nyota rolls her eyes. "I know what the _word_ means, Spock."

Spock watches her for a moment, and then says, "My account included the Nibiru incident, while Kirk's did not."

Nyota stares at Spock for a moment, uncomprehending, until Spock watches the understanding dawn in her eyes. "He falsified his report?" she says. "He thought the best way to deal with breaking the Prime Directive was to _lie_ about it?" She adds, with building rage, "And he didn't even check with you to make sure your stories matched?"

"Admiral Pike had several very strong words to say to him," Spock says, finally venturing further into the apartment. Nyota stands up and crosses her arms across her chest, her shoulders setting with anger.

"Is he _dumb_?" she demands. "Or has his ego finally made him lose touch with reality?"

"I'm not qualified to comment on the latter, although I have strong opinions on the former," Spock says.

"Spock," says Nyota, her eyes widening. "Spock, the punishment for something this big is - "

"Reassignment to the Academy," Spock agrees, keeping his face stone-blank. "I am aware."

" _Spock_ ," says Nyota with more urgency, "you weren't assigned to the Enterprise. You were Kirk's choice."

Spock can't remember ever feeling this tired. He can feel the burden of every bone in his body, from the exhausted phalanges of his fingers to the weighted ribs in his chest. He is, he thinks, constructed of a skeleton of exhaustion. "I am aware of that as well, Nyota."

Nyota now holds herself with anxiety rather than anger. "Have you been reassigned?"

"I haven't received notice of reassignment," Spock says, but in the interest of honesty, finds himself adding, "yet."

Nyota's arms uncross slowly, but she keeps her hands hovering above the base of her sternum. She watches Spock carefully, and finally says, quietly and neutrally, "What are you thinking?"

Spock turns away, to go to the galley kitchen and retrieve a glass of water. He last drank water almost four hours ago, and even though the weather is mild for Earth, he has no intention of suffering from dehydration. "It is illogical to form opinions when I may not be reassigned."

Nyota follows him. "Do you really think that?" she asks, and this time her voice has an accusatory edge. 

"When a position such as Science Officer or First Officer becomes available, it is not uncommon for staffing in many other ships to be affected in response," says Spock. "There are over forty ships in the Fleet, and I stand an equal chance of reassignment to any of them - if I even am reassigned. Furthermore, there are diplomatic outposts that may benefit from my presence, as well as the historical option of my assignment to Starfleet itself. There are far too many variables to begin - "

"I'm not talking about plans," says Nyota. "It's too early to plan, I get that. But aren't you even _angry_? Kirk broke about a thousand rules and you might get reassigned because of it!"

"Anger is not productive," Spock says tightly, "and therefore is an illogical indulgence."

"Spock," says Nyota, and then steps around Spock to stand in front of him. " _Spock_."

"I have no wish to discuss this matter at this time," Spock says.

Nyota looks up at him, her eyes searching his face, and as Spock watches, she steels herself. "Okay," she says. "Okay, I can respect that. But, Spock, I have no idea what you're thinking right now. None. And I don't know how to help you if you won't let me in."

The temptation is strong. Spock still remembers the feel of Nyota's fingers carding through his hair, cradling his face against her shoulder, being the only solid rock in a shipwrecking sea. But its balm was temporary, and the grief of the loss of Vulcan and his mother has only slightly abated since then. He has no wish to find himself strangling anyone else, and that is the road that indulging his emotions inevitably leads to.

"I require no such assistance at this time," says Spock.

Nyota's jaw sets, and she begins, "I don't know what - " 

Then Spock's communicator chirps, and Nyota looks away, frustration flashing in her eyes. "Duty calls?" she says.

"I cannot imagine what duty - " Spock begins, pulling the communicator from his pocket, and stops. _Emergency session, Daystrom_. Only the direst of circumstances would necessitate such a meeting.

Nyota watches him, and a light frown creases her forehead. "Spock?"

"Computer," says Spock, his voice trembling slightly, "show Starfleet news stream."

The screen built into his apartment wall glows into life, showing a Starfleet information officer who is already mid-sentence.

" - though the outpost was lightly staffed, the death toll is currently estimate to be in the hundreds, if not thousands. So far we do not have any information on why Ren'Taharr was targeted, although its location on the edge of the Neutral Zone may be a factor. No word yet on whether Starfleet has attempted diplomatic contact with the Klingon Empire, although some are speculating that this incident may be sufficient to spark a war..."

Spock feels a pressure on his shoulder, and he turns to see Nyota's hand resting there, her eyes wide but her jaw set.

"Go," she says.

ii. 2259.60

"The truth is...I'm going to miss you."

Spock opens his mouth, but no response is forthcoming. Even after years in the Academy and stationed among humans, the finer points of their emotional reactions are still a mystery to him; he cannot decide whether pointing out the inherent contradiction in Kirk's statements would be counterproductive. Despite the human tendency towards emotional expression, true discussion and analysis of those same expressions are not typically well-received.

Kirk solves his problem for him by expressing clear frustration and walking away. After a moment, Spock follows, although he doesn't attempt to broach the subject again.

He sits by Captain Abbot at the meeting, as Admiral Marcus provides the same information that the news feed did, albeit in more detail. Klingon forces launched an attack on the Federation outpost on Ren'Taharr, destroying it. All of its inhabitants are presumed lost. War is likely.

"This is the information that has _not_ gone public," says Marcus, tapping at his PADD. "And it can't leave this room. We received a communication from the Klingon Empire shortly after the attack accusing the Federation of a long-distance attack on Qo'noS originating near Ren'Taharr. Obviously, this is false. It seems most likely that the Klingons wanted an excuse to go to war, and either invented the attack wholesale or a coincidence and a convenient excuse."

Spock looks up from his PADD to see Kirk whispering to Pike across the table, and frowns.

Marcus notices as well. "Chris, everything okay over there?"

Pike says, "Yes, sir. Mr. Kirk is just acclimating to his new position as First Officer."

"If you've got something to say, Kirk, say it," Marcus says. "Tomorrow's too late."

Kirk glances towards Pike, in a nervous gesture Spock has seen at many dissertation defenses. "I'm fine, sir, my apologies."

"Spit it out, son, don't be shy."

After a moment's continued hesitation, Kirk says, "Why would the Klingons invent an attack to start a war? Would they really feel like they needed an excuse to go to war if that's what they wanted? And if the attack on Qo'noS was real, who's to say it wasn't a third party that stood to profit from a potential war between the Empire and the Federation?"

Marcus rubs his chin in thought. "Such as?"

Kirk shrugs. "War's a hell of a distraction. We're going to have to thin out our resources, drop missions that are currently in progress, cancel ones that were coming up - I don't think the list of possibilities is particularly short."

Marcus considers this for a long moment, then nods once, decisively. "We'll have to look into that. Not bad, Kirk," he says, and the meeting continues.

Under the circumstances, most current and scheduled missions have been delayed, canceled, or curtailed. The Enterprise, as the newest ship, is assigned to the front lines: the Neutral Zone.

The _Bradbury_ , as a ship mainly outfitted with scientific equipment, is assigned to local patrols of the main Federation planets: Earth, New Vulcan, Andoria, and Tellar Prime.

Admiral Marcus announces a fifteen-minute break before detailing each ship's specific mission in more depth, and as Spock pours himself a glass of water from the refreshments just outside of the conference room, he finds himself joined by Captain Pike.

"Commander Spock," says Pike.

"Captain," says Spock, allowing the use of his title to be pointed.

Pike inclines his head, accepting the jibe. "I wanted to say I'm sorry for your demotion."

Spock raises an eyebrow. "A curious phrasing. Do you mean to express sympathy or assume responsibility?"

Pike gives a quiet laugh at that, and takes the pitcher from the table to pour his own glass of water. "Your logic is, as always, flawless. How'd you know?"

"Simple," says Spock. "Regulations dictate that Kirk should be reassigned to additional training at the Academy for his part in the Nibiru incident. I, for my participation in the intervention, merit a lesser grade of punishment - such as reassignment away from the flagship vessel of the Federation. Given your considerable, yet not unlimited, political capital among the Admiralty, it stands to reason that perhaps one of our situations could be rectified, but not both, particularly since miscommunication between Kirk and myself is what resulted in our current situation."

"You mean in being caught," says Pike, and takes a sip of his water. "And I'd point out that you acted by-the-book in filing that report."

"And yet the Admiralty is composed of nothing but beings who were once captains," Spock parries. "The loyalty of a First Officer to their Captain may be unofficially sacrosanct, but it is sacrosanct nonetheless." 

Pike inclines his head in reluctant agreement.

"Without your intervention, Kirk would have been stripped of his commission," Spock continues. "I presume that mitigating his demotion required using all of the connections you have - and even then you yourself assumed quite a bit of risk and something of a demotion yourself, Captain."

"Is this the part where you say it's illogical?" says Pike.

"On the contrary. I would have predicted a high likelihood of the Enterprise being assigned the five-year mission under your command, even with Kirk on board, if only for the Admiralty to be rid of him for the duration of the mission. Additionally, employing your influence to block my reassignment would have only incrementally improved my situation, as opposed to the drastic improvement of Kirk's. In this case, Captain, it was _your_ logic that was flawless."

"Except for the small matter of a new war," says Pike, and sighs. "Guess you dodged a bullet with this one, Spock. I think your chances of survival went up rather drastically with your reassignment."

Spock redirects his gaze towards his glass. "I have no doubt," he says quietly, "that that was deliberate. There were not many Vulcans in Starfleet before the destruction of our home planet, and fewer still remain. While the Vulcan influence in the Federation has diminished, I am currently one of the few connections that Starfleet has to Vulcan."

"I guess sometimes even half a Vulcan is better than no Vulcan at all," Pike muses.

"It would seem to be the case."

"Hmm," says Pike, "suddenly the lengths you went to in your carefully-worded report to take responsibility for the Nibiru incident make more sense."

"To reassign the only Vulcan remaining in Starfleet to the Academy would be an affront to a devastated yet influential society; highly illogical," Spock agrees.

Pike shakes his head. "For someone who claims not to have any emotions, you have a damn good grasp of politics, both interpersonal and interplanetary."

"While humans freely express their emotions, they rarely appear to understand them," says Spock. "And far be it from a Vulcan to shy away from analysis of a complex problem."

"Even if that problem is human emotions," says Pike.

"Precisely."

"Well," says Pike, putting his now-empty glass back on the refreshments table and turning to face Spock head-on, "I regret that I won't be working with you again, but Abbot's lucky to have you. He's a good man and a good Captain - his crew respect him, and he respects the hell out of them right back."

"I wish you the best of luck with your new First Officer," says Spock, and, because he is only half-Vulcan, adds, "I suspect you both will need it."

The meeting continues, and Spock is fully and appropriately attentive. The details of the patrols, both of the Neutral Zone and the heart of the Federation, are discussed in great detail, including the estimated crew turnover for such posts. The number for the Enterprise is very high, due to its assignment, and even from across the table Spock can see Kirk's mouth tighten. Kirk became immediately and intensely attached to his crew upon assuming the captaincy, and it has been a point of pride for him that they have not lost a single member yet. 

It occurs to Spock that there is another explanation: that Kirk fears that he himself may be part of the casualties. This explanation seems unlikely - Kirk consistently displayed a disregard for his own well-being that was at times staggering - but the thought of such an occurrence is unpleasant to Spock, at least.

And so, after the meeting has been concluded and Marcus has dismissed them all, Spock finds himself once again trailing Kirk's heels as he walks towards the turbolifts.

"Commander Kirk," he calls, just as Kirk gets into the turbolift.

Kirk turns around to face Spock, and his jaw is set not with determination, but with resignation. "What, Spock?"

Spock does not enter the turbolift, and instead simply raises his hand in the Vulcan salute. "Your next assignment will be a dangerous one. It is therefore logical for me to take this opportunity to convey my sincerest wish that you live long and prosper."

This time Kirk is speechless, and the turbolift doors close between them.

The following morning, Spock receives the following message to his communicator:

_Peace and long life. Be safe._  
 _-jtk_

iii. 2259.65

Spock arranges for his things to be taken from his quarters on the Enterprise, but he does not expect Nyota to bring them herself a few days later.

"The _Bradbury_ 's a good ship," says Nyota, watching Spock transfer a stack of science-blue uniform shirts from Nyota's box to his Starfleet-issued duffel. "Captain Abbott has a reputation for being fair."

"We have had several preliminary briefings," says Spock. "It is clear he is greatly respected by his crew."

"It's not the Enterprise," says Nyota, her voice quiet.

"No," says Spock, smoothing a wrinkle out of the topmost shirt. "It is not."

"Spock," says Nyota, "would you look at me?"

After only a brief moment, he does so.

Nyota's expression is clear and controlled, but her deep breaths belie her attempts to keep her composure. "Are we going to talk about what this means?"

Spock meets Nyota's gaze full-on. "It means that you will be in an active warzone while I will be several hundred lightyears away, unable to render assistance or provide you with emotional support." A moment passes without either of them speaking, and Spock adds, "I presume that's what you were referring to?"

"Yes, Spock," says Nyota quietly. "That's what I was referring to."

Spock looks away, his attention returning to packing his bag. There's only one logical outcome to this conversation, but he can't bring himself to instigate it.

Nyota shies away as well, looking down at the floor and saying, "I don't know how I'm going to be able to work with him."

Spock frowns at his uniform-issue socks. "Kirk?"

"It's just so… _stupid_. Falsifying his Captain's Log? And not even talking to you about it?" Nyota's lips thin. "That's not just being bad at his job, that's deliberate. He's the First Officer now - how am I supposed to trust him?"

"I don't believe the Cap – that Kirk acted with malice; merely inexperience and poor judgment," says Spock. "The entire mission was ill-advised, as was my agreement to participate. The Prime Directive – "

"We saved lives," Nyota snaps. "Including yours, for all the happiness it seems to be bringing you."

Spock is quiet for a moment. "I have upset you."

Nyota tilts her head and raises her chin. "Yes, Spock, I'm upset. I'm upset because you were down in a volcano about to die, and once we got you back the first thing you say is that we made a mistake." 

"The Prime Directive clearly states – "

"I'm not talking about the Prime Directive, I'm talking about _you_ ," says Nyota. "I can't follow your logic if you won't even share it with me, and without knowing what you were really thinking, it looks like you were willing to throw your life away."

"And yet we are all aware that any member of Starfleet may be called upon to lay down his or her life to uphold what the Federation stands for," says Spock.

"Was that it?" says Nyota, placing her hand on the table next to his. "Is that really what you were thinking, while you were there?"

"My intention at the time is immaterial, considering the outcome," says Spock, and Nyota turns and leans against the table that Spock has put his duffel on.

"It matters to me," says Nyota. "You're the only one who gets to decide if that means it matters to you, too, but I hope you'll at least tell me whether it does."

Spock looks down at their hands, separated on the table by mere centimeters and lying next to each other in opposition. So few escaped Vulcan that it is illogical to regret being among them, and yet if there were any logic to the identity of the survivors, he would not have been among them at all. And to further benefit from Kirk's choice on Nibiru, to escape death once again despite all logic and sensibility saying that it should not be so, is nearly unbearable. And yet this contradiction is precisely where Nyota's nature shines through: there is no conflict in her, no regret, only happiness about his survival that he cannot share. To let through happiness would no doubt allow grief to come through as well.

"To answer your first question," Spock says, somewhat haltingly, "the _Bradbury_ and the Enterprise are unlikely to have overlapping shore leaves with any regularity. It would be unfair of me to ask of you – "

"You don't get to decide what's unfair for me," Nyota interrupts, moving her hand over his. "You can say what's unfair for you, and if it's – " She pauses, for a steadying breath. "If this is it, then I'll respect that, but don't try to tell me what is or isn't best for me."

Spock examines her expression, and in the tight set of her jaw and slight hopeful tilt to her brow he sees only determination. Then he turns his hand beneath hers, so that they are palm-to-palm. "Tell me what you need," he says, his voice unexpectedly hoarse.

Nyota breathes out, and some of the breath escapes through her mouth, letting her lips open into the barest sketch of a smile. "I need," Nyota says, and her voice is shaking as well, "I need us to try."

Her hand tightens around his, and he returns the gesture. "Then we try."

iv. 2259.162

Nyota is a quarter of an hour late to their subspace communication appointment, or, as Nyota refers to it, their subspace date. Spock spends the time in the office he is afforded as Science Officer, reviewing several submissions to scientific journals from _Bradbury_ personnel to ensure they contain no classified information. His desk faces the viewscreen, and he does not indulge his concerns by checking the combat status of the Enterprise.

The days on the _Bradbury_ are routine. Although the ship has officially been tasked with patrolling the core Federation planets, the ship itself was designed for scientific missions and the scientific missions continue. Spock spends his on-duty time reviewing data, facilitating and organizing scientific observations, and overseeing scientific operations. He spends very little time off-duty, by design. There is always another observation, another paper to be reviewed before publication, another calibration to be conducted. His fellow officers are friendly, but he outranks everyone on the ship except Abbot, who is a much more firm believer in rank than Kirk was as Captain: everyone is addressed by rank or title, without the more-casual "Mr." or bare surname that Kirk came to default to.

After his time on the _Enterprise_ , the _Bradbury_ seems utterly conventional.

When Nyota's communication comes through, loops of her hair loosely arc out of her customary ponytail, and she is out-of-breath.

"Sorry I'm late," she says, "my shift went over because Hawkins managed to screw up all the settings on the – never mind. The point is, I'm sorry I'm late, and hello."

"Hello," says Spock. "You are well?"

She smiles at him, although it's strained at the corners of her mouth. "Were you worried?"

"As the Enterprise is currently patrolling an active warzone, a certain amount of concern is warranted," Spock says. 

"No Klingons today," says Uhura. "How are you?"

"Well," says Spock. "Despite the inclinations of the ship's rumor mill, we have not been deployed to combat, and as we are chiefly a scientific vessel, I continue to find it unlikely that we will be."

"I'm glad to hear that, at least," says Nyota. 

"And the rest of the crew?" asks Spock.

"We had casualties in the last engagement, a few days ago," Nyota admits. "Nothing serious - Sulu got a burn on his face, but he's been playing brave in the recreation room with all the ladies and it'll be gone in two days. Oh, and Xiao-Xiao, down in Engineering, fractured her wrist, but that was pretty much it. It's business as usual - Chekov and Scotty have been working together on doing who-knows-what to the transporters, and someone put up a picture of Admiral Archer's beagle down by the engine, but that's about as interesting as it's been recently."

"And Captain Pike?" says Spock.

Nyota smiles, open and honest this time. "He's a good Captain. But you already knew that."

Spock did, but it wasn't precisely what he was asking. "And how has Commander Kirk been adjusting to the sudden command structure above him?"

Nyota lets out a quiet bark of a laugh. "I wish you could see it – ever since the skirmish at K-3, Kirk's been following Pike around like a puppy. Every other word out of his mouth is 'Captain Pike said this,' or 'Captain Pike said that.'"

Spock raises an eyebrow. "I find that highly unlikely, and request visual evidence to the contrary."

"I'll do my best to take a video," Nyota promises. "I think it was Pike's tough love that did him in. There were some dressings-down. Several on the bridge."

Spock frowns minutely. "I was always led to believe that public displays of displeasure with a subordinate were discouraged in the Command track."

Nyota raises an eyebrow. "And how many times did you tell someone in the Science Division _exactly_ what was wrong with their work, no matter who was around?"

"I did specify 'Command track,'" Spock reminds her.

"Yes, you did. Well, Kirk's ego needs periodic deflating. I think now he's more or less received the message that he's not going to get away with everything under Pike, even if Pike went to bat for him."

"Do you still resent him?" asks Spock, because even Vulcans aren't immune to curiosity.

"Kirk?"

Spock inclines his head. "You said once that he was the cause of my transfer to the _Bradbury_."

"I did," Nyota says, and purses her lips in thought. "I think it took him a while to get over being First Officer, but – he's good at it. Better than I thought he'd be, after having been Captain."

"I am...gratified to hear that," says Spock, and Nyota smiles at him. "And yourself?"

Nyota nods - not in agreement, but absently, thinking the question over. "I think I'm getting used to it," she says. "It's...different, being on a ship on the front line. It's like the Narada incident all the time. Anything can happen."

There would be no benefit to Spock saying that he wishes he could be there, so he doesn't say it. Instead he says, "While I cannot say that I enjoy the thought of you in danger, the flagship of the fleet requires the most capable officers for such a dangerous and important mission. You are well-suited to the task."

A smile ghosts over Nyota's face, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "I accept the compliment as it was intended," she says, "but I can't say the task is particularly suited to _me_."

Spock raises an eyebrow. "Your competency - "

"I'm not talking about competency, I'm talking about preference," Nyota says. "I joined Starfleet to explore and to study, not to fight a war."

"Starfleet did not seek this war out," says Spock.

"Does it matter?" says Nyota. "The fact of the matter is, right now, the communications I'm intercepting and decrypting are being used to track down enemy ships to destroy them. The officers on those ships are talking to their families, wishing their parents happy birthday and passing pictures of their children back and forth. They're talking about _justice_ , Spock, about revenge, not about the glory of battle - well, no more so than Klingons do in any conversation, anyway." Nyota hesitates, her unhappiness clear on her face. "I think they really think the Federation acted first."

Spock feels a ripple of unease, but says, "Their thinking it doesn't make it so."

Nyota shakes her head, quick with impatience. "I know, but - think about it. Even if the Klingons invented a reason to attack and start a war, then we're still playing into whatever hand they've got by doing exactly what they want us to. Who is that helping?"

"The possibility was raised at the initial meeting that a third party incited the incident on Qo'noS," Spock admits. 

"So we're playing into someone else's hands," Nyota says, and sighs, resting her elbow against her desk to lean her forehead against her hand. "I don't know. Maybe I've been listening to too many of Scotty's conspiracy theories?"

"And how is Lieutenant Scott?" says Spock. He doesn't do so hurriedly, because Vulcans never hurry.

Nyota smiles. "As unpredictable as ever, but he keeps the ship running," she says. "Even if Pike doesn't know half of the stunts he pulls to make it happen."

"I admit, I preferred the...faster pace of life aboard the Enterprise," Spock says, and Nyota's smile fades away.

"I wish you were here," she confides, and Spock feels a strange pressure in his throat.

"As do I," he says, and clears it briefly. "However, on the subject of assignments, Dr. Ilshavre at the Academy resigned from his post rather suddenly."

"No!" says Nyota, looking appropriately scandalized. "I thought he'd be behind that podium until he fossilized. Why'd he resign?"

Spock can't suppress his eyebrow-raise. "He won the lottery."

"You've got to be kidding me."

"From what I understand, he purchased a private spacestation, a luxury shuttle, and a small island, while pointedly declining to provide donations to any of the academic institutions at which he studied or taught," Spock continues. "And so the Academy has found itself in dire need of an introductory xenolinguistics professor."

Nyota blinks. "You were reassigned to San Francisco?"

"I have been assured the assignment is temporary - however, with the war effort requiring the presence of so many xenolinguists elsewhere and with the semester schedule being what it is, I have been told to expect at least six months in San Francisco."

"Spock," says Nyota, a glimmer of happiness appearing in her eyes that Spock finds he has sorely missed during its war-induced absence, "the Enterprise is coming back to Starbase One in four and a half months for retrofitting and repairs."

"That was rather my point," says Spock, and feels the burden on his shoulders ease for the first time since the war began. 

v. 2259.297

The bar is what Nyota referred to as a "traditional Starfleet watering hole," but Spock considers it to be a museum of humanity, even despite the presence of nonhumans. Posters of old films adorn the walls, wedged between dart boards, and the dim lighting glints off the display of bottles that occupies the entire wall behind the bar. The lacquered wood captures everything placed on it in a layer of stickiness, and even many of the nonhumans entering the bar unconsciously adopt human mannerisms - a certain swing of the hips and a looseness to their movements that is the hallmark of human carelessness.

It had taken Nyota some effort to convince Spock to come out to a bar on their first night together in almost a year, but Spock has not yet had a reason to regret his eventual agreement. The social dynamics of the crew are a fascinating study in chaos and turbulence, as crewmembers from different departments come together for brief interactions and then part again, mixing and unmixing. Spock and Nyota developed, over the years, a mutually satisfactory plan for socializing in bars: Spock stations himself at the bar itself, typically with a PADD and some sort of beverage to discourage irritation from the bartender, while Nyota orbits out to whichever social group she intends to interact with before returning to Spock. It's a pattern that repeats itself multiple times over the course of the evening - Nyota returns to Spock and lingers over her drink, then gets distracted by the arrival of the latest wave of medical staff, only to return once that conversational well has run dry.

This time, however, Nyota isn't the only one visiting Spock.

"I heard that the _Bradbury_ 's having an issue with its external inertial dampeners," Lieutenant Sulu mentions to him about half an hour after Spock's arrival.

"Is it true that the transporter techs on the _Bradbury_ are writing a manual on multi-target single-transports?" Ensign Chekov inquires an hour later.

"So I hear the Science Officer on the _Bradbury_ 's got a bit of a stick up his arse," says Commander Scott, with a grin plastered across his face that is, while unquestionably inebriated, not sufficiently so to justify such a provocative question. "What's your take on 'im?"

Perhaps the strangest thing, though, is that these questions lead into genuine conversations. Sulu baits Spock into an argument about whether external inertial dampeners are even a sensible failsafe system at all, and Spock gives Chekov the names of several transporter techs who would be ecstatic to have such an enthusiastic beta-reader. The conversation with Scott ends in a tearful confession that Spock's contrarian willingness to debate warp theory is greatly missed aboard the _Enterprise_ , albeit with a hurried, "It's really Keenser who misses you, mostly, the sentimental wee bastard" tacked onto the end.

Spock is not the sort of Starfleet officer who would protest an assignment. He entered Starfleet knowing full well what awaited him, and, particularly given that his lifespan is anticipated to be significantly longer than the typical human lifespan, is not above outliving the less-than-prime assignments and grunt work. He even put aside his own career and academic interests to teach at the Academy, not once but twice, although he easily could have left Starfleet and received advantages elsewhere, both monetary and academic. It has generally been logical to do so.

Logic has very little to do with the ache that awakens beneath his sternum as he watches Scott and Chekov attempt to build a replica of the _Enterprise_ out of toothpicks, or listens to Sulu and Nyota laugh as Doctor M'Benga plays darts for the first time and fails spectacularly. He had not realized how attached he had become to this crew - not just Nyota, but the entire crew.

The final two members of the senior staff of the _Enterprise_ arrive late, at the point that even Nyota has switched to water and is spending as much time on the bar stool next to Spock as not. 

Kirk claps his hands together and rubs them, asking the bar at large, "Are all the lightweights gone?"

Nyota breaks off her comment to Spock mid-sentence and smiles slyly, turning in her stool to tell Kirk, "They heard you were coming and decided it was time to leave, of course. Doctor McCoy! Come have a drink."

"I'm wounded, Uhura," says Kirk, as McCoy rolls his eyes behind him. Kirk scans the bar area as he comes to sit on Spock's other side. "Man, more lightweights than I thought. It's just the bridge crew left."

"Please tell me Pike's not coming," moans Sulu from where he's slumped himself against the bar.

"He figured you guys deserved a break, which is more slack than I'd cut you," says Kirk mildly, although Spock can see a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. "And you, Lieutenant, are cut off. You're on an all-water diet for the rest of the night, are we clear? Unless you'd rather have my hangover cure tomorrow morning."

"Kirk's hangover cure is a three mile run, with Kirk pacing," Nyota murmurs to Spock.

"We're on shore leave, Commander," Sulu says, his voice somewhat muffled by the wood of the bar. "You're not allowed to hand out punishments."

"You're right," says Kirk, smirking. "I guess that means you'll be stuck with Chekov's cure, then."

"That involves vodka, Turkish coffee, bacon, and a blender," Nyota informs Spock.

Sulu's head lifts from the bar, and he raises a hand to get the bartender's attention. "Could I have a glass of water, please? A big one?"

"Good choice, Sulu."

"You're a bad man, sir."

"I try," says Kirk, with the most humility that Spock has ever seen from him (which is not a lot).

"Now _I_ need a drink," mutters McCoy.

Kirk finally turns his attention to Spock with a grin. "Commander Spock! Designing the Kobayashi Maru again this year? Because I can give you some pointers."

"Luckily, that duty has fallen to another," says Spock. "Congratulations on your safe return to Earth. Or perhaps I should be congratulating Captain Pike on successfully completing almost an entire year without committing physical violence upon your person."

"I'm nominating Pike for sainthood," McCoy says, and flags down the bartender. "Bourbon, the good stuff. Make it a double."

"And two shots of Jack and another of...whatever it is he's having," Kirk adds, flapping a hand in Spock's general direction. 

"Bribery will get you nowhere," Nyota informs him.

"Bribery?" Kirk scoffs. "What makes you think one of those shots is for you? I'm just getting this night started."

Nyota rolls her eyes and leans further into the bar to look around Kirk at McCoy. "Doctor, what was it that the Captain said to Commander Kirk about three months ago? You remember the one."

McCoy gives an exaggerated frown. "Do you mean when he told Jim that being in command means that the only person whose safety is more important than yours and whose personal desires matter less than yours is whoever's above you in the chain of command? Or the time Pike told him to stop thinking so much about what he wanted and start thinking about what the ship needed?"

"Wasn't that the same speech?" Nyota says. "It was a long one, if I recall correctly."

McCoy's bourbon arrives, and he lifts it in a quick toast towards Nyota. "You're right. My mistake."

"I don't see how everyone keeps saying I have an ego while you guys are around to make sure it gets regularly deflated," Kirk grumbles, even as the bartender places two shots of Jack Daniels in front of him. Kirk slides one across the bar to Nyota. "Is that why you guys keep stabbing me in the back with these stories? To let out the air?"

"I wouldn't say 'deflate,'" says McCoy thoughtfully. "I think of it more as...lancing."

Kirk makes a face that has very little to do with the shot he's just knocked back. "Did you just compare my ego to a - a _boil_?"

"That's the perfect analogy!" says Nyota. "It's gross, bigger than anyone is comfortable with, and it ends up spilling over and weeping everywhere."

Kirk looks at Spock, his expression pained. "See? See how they treat me?"

"Are those actual dartboards?" McCoy says, looking around the bar. "Actual, physical dartboards with real, physical darts? Not those holographic knockoffs you see everywhere these days?"

"All right, Doctor, let's see what you can do," Nyota says with a grin - she's been beating various crewmembers of the _Enterprise_ at darts all night. "Commander? Want to get beat by a girl?"

Kirk holds up his empty shot glass. "Still a little thirsty - maybe later."

Nyota shrugs, and looks at Spock. "What do you think?"

Nyota has long been aware that her tolerance for Starfleet's nocturnal activities far outstrips Spock's own, and the phrase is one she began to use at the Academy to ensure that she did not inadvertently force Spock to stay out longer than was comfortable. In this, case, however, Spock gestures to his PADD. "If the Commander proves to be inadequate stimulation, I have several more reports to be read."

Kirk lets out a dejected sigh, and Nyota grins, bright and entertained, before following McCoy towards the dart boards.

Kirk clears his throat, turning the empty shot glass over in his hands. "So, Spock. How're you doing?"

"I am well, Commander," Spock says. "And yourself?"

"Not bad," Kirk admits, and places the shot glass down on the wood of the bar with a solid thunk. "Lectures from the Captain notwithstanding." His gaze darts in Spock's direction for a brief moment, and he leans his elbows against the bar in a pose too tight to be truly casual. "Hey, look, I wanted to get a chance to talk to you, you know, one-on-one. What with Nibiru and then the war and everything, I didn't really have a chance to say that…" He trails off, searching the glass shelves of liquor behind the bar as if for answers, before finally continuing, "I'm sorry. For that stunt with the report. I don't regret what we did on Nibiru, not any of it, but falsifying the report was stupid and not talking to you first was even worse." 

Spock's tongue stalls, completely empty of things to say. Eventually, half-embarrassed by the platitude even before he says it, he manages, "You did what you thought was right."

"No," says Kirk, this time to the bar itself, "I did what was easy. Intervening on Nibiru was the right thing to do. Getting you out of the volcano, even if it meant violating the Prime Directive - that was the right thing to do." He sighs, and looks back at Spock. "And being Captain meant that I should've stood behind my decisions, not lied about them." Then Kirk taps the wood of the bar and lets out a long breath. "Okay, now that that's off my chest, how're _you_ doing?"

Spock stares at him for a long moment, and then says the first thing he thinks, which unfortunately happens to be, "You already asked me that."

Kirk laughs. "Caught me again! Didn't I order you another drink?"

Spock raises an eyebrow. "I'm drinking water."

"That's hardly any fun," says Kirk, glancing around the bar. "I thought the whole point of coming out was to get wasted and maybe laid."

"This is perhaps my last opportunity to see my former crewmates for quite some time," says Spock. "I came to say hello."

"New assignment?" Kirk asks, his posture straightening with interest. "Is it more exciting than babysitting a bunch of diplomats and scientists?"

"I will be representing Starfleet Science Operations in their efforts to aid the Vulcan Science Council's reconstruction of the body of New Vulcan's major scientific works and libraries," says Spock. 

Kirk gives Spock a sympathetic frown. "So basically more babysitting."

"It is an important and worthwhile cause," says Spock. "By the time Vulcans developed warp and spread into the galaxy, many of the important historical works were redundant to the civilizations they encountered, who had already made similar discoveries. The primary historical sources were therefore left untranslated and, often, undigitized. The market outside of Vulcan for such documents was never large, but it did exist; identifying and obtaining the works that may be off-world is a difficult endeavor."

"Any secondary sources, especially contemporary histories, would be digitized, at least," says Kirk, with a thoughtfulness that surprises Spock. "If you can figure out where the primary sources for the secondary sources were, by figuring out if the historians were working on Vulcan or in other collections, you could track their access and find some of the documents that way."

"True," says Spock, allowing one eyebrow to lift, "but secondary sources retain much of their authenticity by having primary sources that can be checked against. Without the original primary source, history becomes historiography. Each secondary source must be checked for bias and assessed historically among the trends that existed at the time of the writing. As I said, it is a considerable endeavor."

"Based on New Vulcan?" says Kirk.

"Indeed."

"Hmm," says Kirk noncommittally. "Well, that'll be nice for you, right?"

"It will be quite a relief to be on a planet where the environmental controls are set for my metabolism's norm," Spock concedes. 

Kirk gives him a sidelong frown. "You weren't cold while you were on the _Enterprise_ , were you?"

"I kept my quarters at a quite comfortable temperature and wore the Starfleet-issue cold-environment variation of the uniform at all times," says Spock.

"The fleece-lined shit?" says Kirk. "Is that why you sparked every time you touched a piece of metal?"

"It was nevertheless preferable."

"Then I guess New Vulcan will definitely be an improvement on that front, and I'd just like to remind you of that time that you marooned me on an ice planet. I'm just saying, if you're constantly freezing your ass off, you could have a little more sympathy." Kirk holds up a hand to forestall Spock's retort. "And I also meant, you know, being around people who look like you and think like you and all that."

Spock says, "Most Vulcans do not consider my appearance to be particularly Vulcan."

Kirk squints in confusion. "...what, seriously?"

"I cannot pass for Vulcan among Vulcans any more than I can pass as human among humans," says Spock. "Apparently, there's something about my eyes that is identifiably human."

"No, really? Look, c'mere." Kirk leans in towards Spock, meeting his gaze and examining it for longer than Spock is entirely comfortable with. It is impossible not to notice just how blue Kirk's eyes are, a shade accentuated by the fading purple-green remnants of a bruise along the orbital socket of one eye. "I don't think they look particularly human," says Kirk, and the moment passes.

"As you are accustomed to humanity, no doubt you would be a poor judge of it," says Spock, turning his attention away from Kirk and to wiping a speck of dust off his PADD, still sitting on the bar in front of him. "It is always easiest to identify that which is unfamiliar."

"Yeah," says Kirk, and returns his attention to the shot glass, which he tilts and rolls along the bottom rim like the precession of a planet's axis.

"You disagree?" says Spock.

"I think," says Kirk, with slow but clear melancholy, "that you belong on the _Enterprise_."

Once again, Spock is left at a loss for words, and not only by the change of subject.

"Pike was going to find a way to get you back on the ship, you know," Kirk continues. "Commander Nguyen and their partner were going to try for a baby within a few years, and the Science Officer position would've opened up. And then the war happened."

Spock clears his throat. "How is Commander Nguyen?"

"Retiring to the private sector to start a family," says Kirk, with a brief, bitter smile. "Didn't sign up for a war, didn't want one."

Spock can't help but glance towards where Nyota and McCoy are throwing darts. "I believe that applies to many of us in Starfleet." He shifts his attention back to Kirk. "And yourself?"

Kirk tilts his head in consideration. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't an adrenalin junkie, and I'm sure getting plenty of that," he said. "But it's not...isn't it weird to you?"

Spock raises an eyebrow. "The phenomenon of war in general, or your self-professed status as an 'adrenalin junkie'?"

"No, just, the whole thing. The attack on Qo'noS, the attack on Ren'Taharr, the entire war. They say we shot first, we say they did, but doesn't it feel like - like a giant distraction? Like there's something else going on? It's just so...so pointless." Kirk looks at Spock beseechingly, and it strikes Spock for the first time just how young Kirk truly is. "Someone made this happen, whether it was the person who okayed the attack on Qo'noS, if it happened, or the one who okayed Ren'Taharr, but either way, it's not an accident. Someone's benefitting right now, and it's sure as hell not us."

"You suspect a conspiracy?"

"I - " Kirk breaks off, shifts in his seat, and casts a quick eye around the bar. "I think that if the Klingons were going to start a war, they'd find more honor in starting it unprovoked than faking an attack so they could say that we started it. And I think that it's a little weird that after a long history of Starfleet outsourcing the manufacturing of its weapons, all of a sudden the they're being made in-house even though the factories don't exist - "

Spock allows himself to interrupt. "Starfleet's weapons are being manufactured by Starfleet itself?"

Kirk points to Spock. "Exactly what I said! I checked the contracts myself - that information should be publicly available, but for the weapons that've been coming on-board the Enterprise, no manufacturing contract exists. It wasn't cancelled, but the old contracts just expired and the new ones apparently never existed in the first place. That's weird, right?"

"For the weapons to be available now, the development process would have had to begin years ago," says Spock.

"Yeah," says Kirk, his voice flat. "Yeah, it would."

Spock doesn't allow even an iota of a reaction. "You believe that the attack on Qo'noS may have been legitimate?"

"I think that war's a hell of an excuse to keep people from asking questions," says Kirk, "and for a peacekeeping armada, we're not exactly keeping a lot of peace right now, are we? I can think of a lot of people off the top of my head who are getting a lot less attention from Starfleet now that we're fighting the Klingons."

Spock raises an eyebrow. "You don't believe fighting the Klingons is worthy?"

"I don't like being lied to," says Kirk. Then he sighs and scrubs his face with one hand. "Or maybe I've just been spending too much time around Scotty, I don't know."

"It is certainly strange," Spock says slowly, and Kirk perks up.

"You don't think it's crazy?"

"I think there was insufficient 'it' specified to be able to judge," says Spock, but then he adds, "but your identification of logical inconsistencies is accurate."

"I think that's the nicest thing you ever said to me," says Kirk, straight-faced. "Other than that time you basically said you didn't want me to die."

"I have no recollection of saying such a thing," says Spock.

"You told me to live long and prosper, so you wanted me to not die and also be rich. It was very thoughtful."

"It is a habitual saying and should not be parsed as truly meaningful in and of itself," Spock says.

"Admit it," says Kirk, leaning in towards Spock, "you _like_ me. You liked being beneath me and taking orders from me. Admit it."

Another man, one of the few late-night bar denizens not affiliated with the Enterprise in anyway, pauses in his path walking behind Kirk and Spock, and leans in between them. "I don't know if I heard something out of context or not, but if I didn't, I'll be right over in that corner for a while. I like taking orders…and receiving them." He gave both Kirk and Spock lascivious and inviting looks, and then walked away.

Kirk clears his throat, and turns around in his stool. He yells towards the darts area, "Bones! Don't wait up for me tonight, okay?"

"Congratulations on your conquest, Commander," Spock tells him.

Kirk reaches past Spock until they're almost chest-to-chest, and retrieves Nyota's abandoned shot of Jack Daniels. He downs it in a quick gulp, without even a grimace. "That's the thing you don't get, Spock," he says with a grin. "It's not a conquest - it's a highly agreeable mutual surrender."

vi. 2259.334

New Vulcan's temperature is, indeed, much more agreeable to Spock than many of Starfleet's typical accommodations, which tend to standardize to a human baseline. In the six months he has been assigned to New Vulcan, however, he has realized just how accustomed to humanity he has become. The Vulcan default of a blank expression, adopted by all Vulcans while walking through the streets and even on children, strikes Spock as somber although he had previously considered it to be appropriately neutral. Of course, the other difficulty with New Vulcan is never discussed with outsiders - it is a high concentration of a telepathic race in mourning. A quiet grief suffuses the entire planet, and Spock can escape it only through his own meditation in his quarters, which are appropriately shielded.

He is afforded an office in the Starfleet New Vulcan base, but it lacks proper telepathic shielding. The background ache of loss combined with the constant reminder implicit in his work is, frankly, exhausting. Every day is a fresh reminder of what was destroyed: an ancient Vulcan scroll containing the first Vulcan discovery of what Starfleet officially recognizes as the Pythagorean theorem, a clockwork hydraulic mechanism described in only one secondary source, the design drawings of the first Vulcan spacecraft. Spock does what he can to find reproductions, or to provide historical context for secondary sources whose primary sources are gone entirely, but the weight of the absence of an entire history, destroyed in a single moment, lays heavy on his shoulders.

"I'm sorry," Nyota tells him, as he relates some of this to her. "I'm so, so sorry, Spock. I wish I could be there with you."

Spock doesn't say that he does too, since they both already know it. 

"How is New Vulcan handling it in general?" says Nyota, her brows drawn down in concern. "I mean, losing that much of their population - has it made them xenophobic, or more open to other species?"

"Beggars can't be choosers," Spock quotes wryly. "It was said to me that, even though I am half-human, a sufficient proportion of the next generation of Vulcans will also have a parent of another species that I could be brought into the breeding program, if I so desired."

Nyota's eyes widen with skepticism, and Spock watches her try to find a proper response. "That's very...kind of them?"

"I have no intention of participating in a breeding program," Spock assures her. "And yet I find myself attempting to reinforce my identity as part-Vulcan wherever possible, falling into the same patterns of behavior that I found myself exhibiting on Vulcan before I joined Starfleet. On one hand, it is logical that, when presented with a largely uniform and rigidly-defined society with rules that I am familiar with, I should attempt to adapt my own behavior to suit those norms. On the other hand, it is also logical that, since I am here as a Starfleet representative and my subordinates are largely non-Vulcans, I should attempt to distance myself from the behaviors that I know are off-putting to other species." He thinks for a moment, and then says, "I can see no ideal solution."

Nyota sighs. "It's identity politics. It used to be more of an issue here on Earth, before we made first contact, between the races. Hell, now we have it with other species - just look at you. There are always going to be assholes who think that you aren't human enough for Earth or Vulcan enough for New Vulcan. The only logical solution is to ignore them all and do what you do best." She smiles. "Which is everything."

"A prospect more easily articulated than enacted," says Spock.

Nyota ducks her head to hide a smile. "Was that a New-Vulcan-appropriate rephrasing of the Earth phrase, or one that both languages have in common?"

"You are conversant in both languages and cultures; you tell me," says Spock.

Nyota clears her throat. "So what's this conversation really about?"

Spock looks down at his desk and focuses his attention on straightening his PADD so that its major axis lies perpendicular to the edge of his desk. "There is another option," he says. "The war with the Klingons shows no signs of abating. This means that there will be few assignments meriting my scientific expertise, which is the reason I had previously been assigned to exploratory missions. There has not been any discussion of an exploratory mission at all for some time. It seems that my future with Starfleet, then, will be largely academic or diplomatic, leveraging my ties to New Vulcan."

Nyota's face has become as unreadable as a Vulcan's. "So the logical course of action would be to reinforce your connections to Vulcan culture."

"I have been offered enrollment in a meditation academy that prepares its students for the rite of kolinahr," says Spock. "To enroll, and to undergo the rite, would not only gain me credibility among the Vulcan High Council, with which I currently have limited influence due to my already-diluted status as half-Vulcan, but would contribute to the preservation of ancient Vulcan knowledge that is on the verge of being lost."

"You would purge yourself of all emotion and devote yourself to pure logic," says Nyota, her voice carefully balanced.

"Yes. It is a ritual I briefly considered when I was younger, when I believed the only way for me to be Vulcan was to be more Vulcan than most." Spock adds after only a momentary hesitation, "It would solve an additional problem as well."

"Which is?"

Spock finally looks full-on at his screen, meeting Nyota's eyes. "I miss you."

Nyota lets out a breath with too much force to be considered a sigh and insufficient mirth to be considered a laugh. "And your solution to that problem is purging yourself of all emotion."

"It is only a consideration," says Spock. "I have not enrolled, and even enrollment in the meditation academy would not be a binding - "

"You would rather purge yourself of all emotion than miss me," says Nyota.

"That is not what I said."

"It's what it sounded like," says Nyota, and Spock can now see that her eyes are glistening, even as her mouth pinches with increasingly-poorly-concealed anger. 

"Can you truly say that our separation hasn't been difficult for you as well?"

"Of course it's been difficult," says Nyota. "Of course I miss you, but we're in the middle of a war. Hell, even ignoring the war, we're in _Starfleet_. Everything is difficult, and it's always going to _be_ difficult, and if we didn't do anything that was hard we'd never get anything done!"

The door behind Nyota opens, and Spock's screen is too small for Spock to be able to identify the figure that leans through it, although he recognizes the voice.

"Hey, Uhura, chess tournament tonight - oh, sorry, I forgot that you had a date," says Kirk.

"Commander," says Spock, not bothering to hide the stiffness to his voice.

"I'm going to be late," says Nyota, her voice even and firm even as she doesn't turn away from the screen.

"Okay," says Kirk, drawing out the first syllable. "Is, uh, is everything - "

"I'll catch up with you," Nyota says.

"Right," says Kirk. "I'll just, uh, reshuffle the brackets. Spock," he adds as a farewell afterthought, and then the door slides shut again.

"Chess tournament?" says Spock.

"I'd prefer not to change the subject," says Nyota, and a tear spills out onto her cheek. She wipes it away with an impatient dart of her hand.

Spock considers his next words carefully. "I didn't intend to upset you," he says.

Nyota looks up towards the ceiling. "Breakups tend to be upsetting."

Panic flares in Spock's stomach. "Breakup?"

"Wasn't that where this is going?" asks Nyota, looking back at Spock.

"That was not my intention," says Spock. "I merely wanted to discuss the issue with you, as you're the only person I've encountered with the ability to weigh both logic and emotion without discounting either, and as this matter concerns both, I highly value your opinion."

Nyota continues to stare at Spock, uncomprehending, then closes her eyes and lets her head fall forward to be caught in one hand. "Oh my God."

"I...Nyota? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." Nyota lifts her face from her hand. "I just...completely jumped to a conclusion. I'm sorry."

Spock considers the conversation, the panic receding slightly. "In retrospect, it was a logical deduction. I apologize for introducing the possibility."

Nyota lets out a shaky laugh. "Don't apologize. I should've asked, or said something, instead of just assuming…" She looks at Spock, catching her bottom lip between her teeth. "I just - I miss you too."

"Nyota," Spock says, and finds his mouth unexpectedly dry. "If this relationship is becoming more difficult than it warrants, or if you find that your needs are unfulfilled…"

Nyota says nothing, just watches him struggle through the words.

"I desire only your happiness," Spock finishes. "If that is best achieved through a monogamous relationship with me, I will certainly not object; however, if you wish to discontinue or pursue this relationship as non-monogamous…" Spock finds that his feelings can only be articulated through repetition and so says again, "I desire only your happiness."

Nyota looks down. "I appreciate the offer," she says, "but I know myself, and I'm a one-relationship girl. There may be more than two people _in_ that relationship - I'm not going to deny that the thought's crossed my mind before - but I don't want to have one relationship with you, and a completely separate relationship with someone else - does that make sense?"

"It does," says Spock. "My only concern is that you are satisfied."

Nyota's smile is small and sad. "Nobody's satisfied right now. But we're making do."

Spock asks, "Nevertheless...do you never consider whether it would be preferable to reject all emotions, in order to avoid facing negative emotions?"

"No," says Nyota instantly. "Not for a second. Because then you're getting rid of all the good ones, too, and - at least to me - they're worth it."

After a long moment, Spock asks, "But how can you bear it?"

Nyota looks down in thought, and then says, "We'll be together again, eventually. That helps. Thinking about what we'll do when we see each other again, and thinking about what we've already done." She looks up again and gives him a watery smile. "These conversations help, obviously. But mostly I just...keep moving forward, and I hope that every step I take is bringing me closer to when we'll be together again." Then she groans. "That was disgustingly sappy."

"I was already aware that you're a romantic," says Spock, raising an eyebrow. "This is no surprise."

"Shut up," says Nyota, with half of a smile. "Although if you wanted to say something disgustingly sappy to me to make me feel better, I wouldn't say no. That was a joke," she adds.

"I _am_ capable of determining when you're joking," says Spock. "Nevertheless, I greatly admire your ability to weigh and fully experience emotion without allowing it to entirely debilitate you. My father once told me that emotions run deeply in our race, and that that is why logic is necessary for us. I have wondered, not infrequently, if my human heritage makes it impossible for those deep emotions to be fully controlled by reason."

Nyota watches him through the viewscreen, and sighs. "I'm sorry, Spock," she says quietly. "I don't have an answer for you. But I do trust you, and I think you're being very hard on yourself."

"It was those deep emotions that nearly destroyed the Vulcan race before Surak," says Spock.

"Lucky for you, you're also human," says Nyota, with a faint attempt at a smile. "We're a race that's basically constantly in the process of destroying ourselves because of emotion, but somehow we're still here."

"How?" asks Spock.

Nyota sighs. "I think...if you try to ignore emotions entirely, that's giving them power over you. You're putting all your energy into not feeling. But if you accept what you're feeling and find a way to work past it…" She shrugs. "It's just like being on the bridge in the middle of a battle. It doesn't matter how scared you are, you have a job to do, but if you keep pretending that you're not scared at all, you're not going to get anything done."

Spock nods slowly, then sees the time at the bottom corner of his screen. "I apologize - I never meant to distract you for so long," he says. "I know you have a chess tournament."

Nyota rolls her eyes. "Kirk's idea of crew bonding."

Spock raises an eyebrow. "I wasn't aware he played chess."

"He's actually not half-bad at it," Nyota admits. "He's a terrible loser, though, and Pike's beat him every time they play."

"Fascinating," says Spock. He has no data on which to assess his own competence relative to either Pike or Kirk, but he will have to play one or both of them when the opportunity arises.

"And now, I have to go convince Kirk that we didn't actually break up," says Nyota, with audible regret. "Same time next week?"

"As always," says Spock. "And Nyota - thank you. For your patience."

Nyota's smile this time is fond. "I knew what I was signing up for in this relationship. Be safe."

"And you as well," says Spock, and the screen goes to black.

vii. 2260.63

Three months later, Yeoman Yeardley stops Spock as he walks to his office and informs him that Captain Pike of the _Enterprise_ has a subspace channel open and has requested to speak with him.

"He said it was urgent…" Yeardley tells Spock's back as Spock's pace doubles.

Even though the subspace transmission, Captain Pike's face is weighted down with a strange mix of exhaustion and energy; the lines around his mouth and between his brows are tight with tension, but his eyes are glassy and almost empty of emotion.

"You might want to sit down, Commander," he says, his voice rough even through the static of the vid transmission.

Spock, bonelessly, does so. "I take it the news is bad."

Pike rubs one eyebrow with a thumb, and says, with a practiced and resigned air that suggests far more experience with this particular duty than he'd like, "I regret to inform you that Commander James Kirk and Lieutenant Nyota Uhura were lost in action on an away mission yesterday, and their bodies have been judged unrecoverable."

A strange stillness spreads through Spock's body, heavy and empty all at once. The sense of shock both has substance and lacks it; he has the strangest sensation of being smothered and lightheaded all at once.

"I see," he says, barely aware of his own speech.

"They were on a shuttle that was destroyed in action, along with several other crewmembers whose identities I am not yet at liberty to share," says Pike, before adding, "but I'm sorry, Spock."

Spock served on the Enterprise long enough that this implication - that he knows the other crewmembers - doesn't narrow the possibilities. "How many?"

"I'm not at liberty to discuss that, either," says Pike, "but too damn many."

"I see," Spock says again.

"Under the circumstances, the Enterprise's been ordered back to Earth," Pike continues, "and I put in a request to stop at New Vulcan. The timing works out - we'll be taking you back to San Francisco."

Spock stays silent. There's nothing he can think of to say that wouldn't be redundant. He wonders, not for the first time, if this strange mix of weight and absence was what his father felt when his mother died; if true Vulcans have this volatility to contend with, or if their grief is immediately met with logic instead of an irrevocable sense of loss. He knows what his father told him when he was a child, and he feels the loss of Vulcan every day, but he cannot imagine that any creature could dismiss this - this gaping wound.

Then Pike's words catch up with him. "San Francisco?"

Pike looks down. "I can't tell you who or how many," he says, "but they were bridge crew. A lot of them. Under the circumstances, with your experience, Starfleet Command can't justify keeping you at a desk. You're being reassigned." He looks up again, meeting Spock's eyes. "I'm sorry, son. It looks like you're going to war."

Pike continues talking about the paperwork, but Spock doesn't hear anything he says. The prospect of violence is incredibly inviting at the moment, particularly against the enemy that - that killed - 

But this isn't revenge. This is war. Spock will only be one Starfleet officer among many, on one ship among many, fighting whatever isolated Klingons he encounters - there is no way to narrow the field, or to ensure that his vengeance is falling on the right parties. Any effect he may have will be ultimately pointless, and it certainly won't matter to Nyota or to Kirk. Nothing will ever matter to them.

There are no bodies. There will be a ceremony, no doubt, and if he is aboard the _Enterprise_ then Spock will likely be in San Francisco when it occurs, but he will never again hear Nyota's voice, feel her fingers cover his own or her lacquered nails carding through his hair. He will never see Kirk's infuriatingly smug smirk, or his much rarer genuine smile. There will be no more evenings in bars, no chess games, no…the list is too exhaustive to consider.

He wishes that he could have been there, in their last moments, to at least give them that comfort; and that illogical thought is what brings to him the bone-deep certainty that of all the losses he has suffered, this is the one that he can't endure. There is no acknowledging this grief and constructing logic around it.

"Commander?" Pike says, evidently a repetition. Spock pulls himself from his thoughts.

"I apologize. My thoughts were elsewhere," he says. 

"Understandable, under the circumstances," Pike says, and rubs his forehead again. Some small, dispassionate part of Spock admires Pike's composure, despite the evidence of his lack of sleep and the considerable losses he has just incurred. "As I said, we'll be in orbit around New Vulcan in about four days. We would be there sooner, but we took some damage too, including to our warp core."

"Commander Scott is an excellent engineer," Spock says, his responses at this point largely habitual.

Pike's pained grimace reveals Scott's fate as well, and Spock wonders if there is anyone he would consider a friend still alive on the _Enterprise_.

"I see," he says instead.

"Four days, and then another four days in orbit for the urgent repairs," says Pike. "Then we'll have you back in San Francisco, and...well. Hopefully a lot of things will be a lot clearer by then."

"I understand," says Spock.

Pike's mouth settles into a rueful line, and he says, again, "I'm damn sorry, Spock."

Spock lifts his hand in the traditional greeting. "Live long and prosper, Captain."

The transmission screen goes blank.

viii. 2260.67

Ambassador Spock receives him graciously, despite the lack of warning. His apartments are small but cozy, decorated with a mix of traditional Vulcan tapestries and accoutrements shelved next to paper books from Earth.

"I admit, this is not unexpected," says Ambassador Spock, motioning to a low chair in the sitting room. "Please, sit."

Spock does so. "You have heard the news, then." He says it with certainty; Ambassador Spock, in his current position, has considerable influence on New Vulcan, and likely heard even before Spock himself.

"I have," says Ambassador Spock, and when he lowers himself into the seat across from Spock, he does so slowly and wearily. "I grieve with thee, Spock."

After a moment, Spock says, "And I with thee, Spock."

Ambassador Spock's lips curve wryly, but without much humor. "Is that the matter you wished to discuss? Jim Kirk?"

"No," says Spock. "I came...to ask your advice."

Ambassador Spock raises an eyebrow. "I made a solemn vow not to intercede in this timeline."

"I ask for your advice and insight, not intervention," says Spock. "Did you ever consider the ritual of kolinahr?"

"I take it you are considering it now?" says Ambassador Spock. 

"The offer has been made to me to remain in my current position as Federation liaison to the Vulcan Science Academy," says Spock. "If I remain on Vulcan, it would be logical to undergo kolinahr in order to become more fully integrated into Vulcan society, as it will prove that I am capable of both mastering logic and remaining tied to the Federation. This would help silence criticisms from isolationists who believe that the Vulcan way of life is incompatible with the rest of the Federation after Nero's attack. Additionally, so few Vulcans remain that the advanced teachings of pure logic are in danger of being lost. Every Vulcan who undergoes kolinahr increases the chances of the teachings surviving. Furthermore, I considered kolinahr before my admission to Starfleet, and decided not to only as I thought it would create a potentially insurmountable barrier between me and my colleagues. If I am to stay here as liaison, that will no longer be a concern."

Ambassador Spock nods slowly. "Your logic is understandable. But are you telling me your entire reasoning?"

It takes Spock a moment to ensure his composure when he speaks again. "Vulcan was not destroyed in your reality."

"No," says Ambassador Spock.

"And the crew of the Enterprise? Nyota and Kirk? There was no war with the Klingon Empire, I take it. They must have survived."

Spock has never understood how his eyes were easily identifiable as human, but as he watches Ambassador Spock, it becomes clear: although no other features of his face move, his eyes fill with grief. "Spock," says Ambassador Spock, as gentle as a Vulcan - or half-Vulcan - is capable of being, "surely you know that you will likely outlive them all."

Spock doesn't dare blink, although he can feel his eyes fill. "Ambassador," he says, and even he can hear the ragged edge to his voice, "I already have."

Ambassador Spock nods slowly. "And that is why you've come to ask about kolinahr."

"Can you fault my reasoning?" asks Spock. His hands are balled into tight fists atop his legs in the last vestige of emotional control. "To lose my planet, my people, my mother, and now - " His throat closes before he can continue, but he knows that Ambassador Spock is perhaps the only other being in the universe who will understand. On Vulcan he was an overemotional hybrid, on Earth a pedantic alien; on the _Enterprise_ he was only one strangeness in a galaxy of strangenesses, each spot of light in the infinite universe an opportunity to find insight. His fellow crew may not have understood him fully, but they embraced him, and saw the same potential in the stars that he did. Kirk had seen it, too, and so much had been left unsaid between them. And Nyota…

Now they're dead.

"I attempted the ritual of kolinahr myself," says Ambassador Spock when it becomes clear that Spock will not continue, "when I was much younger than I am now but much older than you are. I was unsuccessful."

Spock retreats to stillness at this revelation, but he understands it. "Because we are half-human."

"No," says Ambassador Spock, almost contemplatively, "we are not. We are Vulcan, and we are human, and neither diminishes the other. Being human or being Vulcan is not a binary, nor even a spectrum; they are independent qualities that are additive in their own way." Ambassador Spock shakes his head, his eyes downcast. "If you will indulge an old man his reminiscence, this universe bears striking differences from mine. It is one of my greatest regrets, that my attempt to assist Romulus was not only unsuccessful, but created a new timeline where differences are feared instead of celebrated."

Spock would like to say that the Federation embraces difference even now, but Vulcans cannot lie. Even in Starfleet Academy, founded with the Vulcan tenet of infinite diversity in infinite combinations, casual insults and nomenclature centered on his ears, his choice of haircut, his green blood. It quickly became clear that offense was illogical in the face of such quantities, and furthermore exhausting. Even on the _Enterprise_ , where he was otherwise embraced.

Instead he says, his voice thick, "And kolinahr?"

"Ah, yes." Ambassador Spock leans back in his seat. "To attain kolinahr, one must prize logic above all else. I would never have attained kolinahr, even if events had not intervened, as there will always be things I prize above logic. I presume you do as well, as you chose Starfleet over the Vulcan Science Academy, just as I did." Spock inclines his head a fraction in inquiry, and Ambassador Spock continues, "Discovery. Exploration. Curiosity. Wonder." Spock raises an eyebrow, and Ambassador Spock corrects himself while mirroring the expression. "Fascination, then. And, yes, loyalty."

Spock takes a moment, and yet his voice is still hoarse as he says, "Commander Kirk is dead."

"Dead or alive, there is no being in the universe more determined than Jim Kirk," says Ambassador Spock, standing. "Or more capable of surprising us." 

Spock takes his cue and stands as well. "Thank you for your advice."

"Your decisions are your own, Spock. They always have been, and always shall be. I only hope I have shed some light on the situation." Ambassador Spock reaches out, and Spock holds out his hand. Ambassador Spock clasps it, and for a moment Spock is rendered breathless by the depth of emotion that he feels - he hasn't felt this since the moment the _Enterprise_ broke free from the black hole that remained of the _Narada_ and the bridge crew looked at each other, passing fragile hope through glances as though carefully tipping it from cupped hand to cupped hand.

"In times this dark, it is difficult to remember that emotion is more than despair," Ambassador Spock says quietly. "Do not lose hope, Spock. I have lost my crew as well, but I assure you that there is still joy in your future, and in mine."

ix. 2260.67

"You have a visitor, sir," says Yeoman Yeardley as Spock returns to his office. "He's waiting for you in the reception area."

Orders to send the visitor away are on the tip of his tongue, but an explanation would require energy, of which Spock has none at the moment. "Did he identify himself?"

"No, sir," says Yeardley, "but he said Captain Pike sent him."

Spock tries to consider the situation through the fog of emotion and exhaustion. His access card to his quarters on New Vulcan are in his office, and his office is beyond the reception area. Confrontation is, one way or the other, inevitable.

"Very well, Yeoman," says Spock, and continues through to the reception area.

Dr. McCoy turns away from the sculpture on one of the low accent tables when Spock enters. "Spock," he says, his voice carrying a strange mixture of resignation and satisfaction. He, too, has been run ragged - several days of stubble growth adorns his jawline, and his uniform is lined with creases. At least, Spock thinks, this is one person he knows was not on that shuttle.

"Doctor," says Spock, stopping in his tracks. "Captain Pike sent you?"

McCoy nods, his body swaying slightly as he does. "Under the circumstances, I'm, uh. I'm his temporary First Officer."

Spock stares. For Pike to have chosen McCoy indicates that the entire bridge crew in the command track - not just Kirk and Nyota, but Sulu and Chekov as well - 

"Under the circumstances, congratulations hardly seem appropriate," Spock manages to say. "I am...sorry for your loss."

McCoy looks down. "Could we talk in your office for a minute? D'you mind?"

"Of course," says Spock, and leads McCoy to his office.

Despite having occupied it for almost three months, the office is sparsely decorated. Spock, having become accustomed aboard the Enterprise to limited quarters, had chosen to keep his personal items in his apartment, despite his limited time spent there. Because of this, the office has only the Starfleet-issue desk, three chairs, and a set of bookshelves. Aside from his PADD, upon which he conducts the vast majority of his work, the only item on his desk is a Newton's cradle left over from the previous inhabitant that finds each and every slight motion in the building and sways with it, creating an incessant clacking.

"Good God, man, you work like this?" says McCoy, looking around. "I saw some color out there while I was in the city - you can't think this is normal."

"This assignment is temporary and I prefer to work with as few distractions as possible while attempting to translate High Vulcan," says Spock, and gestures to one of the two chairs in front of the desk. He takes his usual seat behind it. "However, I doubt you came down to the surface solely to discuss my current assignment."

McCoy's expression settles into unhappy resignation once again. "No," he says, and shuts the door behind him before taking a seat. "Like I said, Pike sent me."

"I assure you, despite the short notice, I will have all of my belongings packed for our departure in three days," says Spock.

"That's not why I'm here," says McCoy. "He wanted me to invite you up for dinner on the ship tonight." He clears his throat, and then continues, his words becoming increasingly stilted. "Given...everything...he wanted you to know that you're welcome to come up whenever you'd like. And that we still consider you to be part of the _Enterprise_ family, you know, even though you haven't been a member of the crew for a while. It still always...felt like you were."

Spock cannot help but frown. "Doctor, are you well?"

"Fine," says McCoy, although it sounds forced. "I just...it doesn't feel like he's gone, you know? Somehow I can't quite convince myself the bastard's dead. It's like he's still around, making my life more difficult like always."

Spock stares at him, and McCoy shifts in his seat, visibly uncomfortable. "Doctor," says Spock slowly, "are you inebriated?"

"What?" says McCoy, then sits up straight with indignation. "Are you accusing me of being drunk? Jesus Christ, can't a man grieve for his best friend in his own way?"

"If you'll pardon my saying so, you're hardly exhibiting any signs of grief with which I am familiar," says Spock.

"I'm grieving! I am! Just - in my own way!" McCoy sits back, crossing his arms. "'Inebriated.' Jesus."

"In that case, please tell Captain Pike that while his offer is much appreciated, I will be leaving my current position with a considerable amount of work left undone, and I hope to spend my time in upcoming days minimizing that work. I will have to decline his invitation."

"It's just dinner," says McCoy. "You can't take a couple of hours to have dinner?"

Spock's frown deepens, and he says shortly, "No."

"Look, Spock, I'm really not cut out for this whole First Officer thing," says McCoy, with an edge of desperation to his voice. "I'm a doctor, not a commander, and I know it, Pike knows it, everyone knows it. I'm pretty sure Pike's going to offer you your position on the _Enterprise_ back if you go up there, and I have to say - "

"I have no interest in my former position," says Spock stiffly.

"No interest?" says McCoy, clearly thrown for a loop. "It's the flagship of the fleet - "

"If you hope to appeal to my ambition, Doctor, you can be assured that I have none," says Spock, "and I am frankly offended that you thought such a strategy would be effective."

"Well, just come up to the ship and tell Pike that to his face," says McCoy. "I'm not exactly thrilled to be playing messenger here - "

"And yet, those were Pike's orders to you, and he is currently your commanding officer," says Spock. "Please tell the captain that while his offers are appreciated, if he wishes any further communication with me before our scheduled departure date, he may do so in person."

"Look, Spock, just - " McCoy breaks off, watching Spock with wide, almost desperate eyes. "Just come back to the ship."

"I understand," says Spock, his voice shaking slightly with anger, "that you do not believe that Vulcans can feel emotions, Doctor. I would like to assure you that we do, and that right now I have no stronger desire than to wring your neck if you continue to try to make me complicit in shirking your duties as First Officer."

McCoy's eyebrows draw together sharply, and when he speaks again, his voice is low. "I'm not shirking anything. I just don't want to do my best friend's job a single second longer than I have to." He looks down, then to the side, his vision tracking restlessly. "I'm supposed to go through his First Officer's logs to get caught up. How the hell am I supposed to do that?"

Spock takes a moment to maintain his emotional control. "Then I hope you understand why I cannot, either."

McCoy finally looks back at Spock, and sighs. "All right. All right." He stands up and proceeds towards the door.

"Doctor," Spock says.

McCoy turns around, his shoulders slumped in defeat and - most likely - overwork.

Spock waits a moment to speak, until he can be certain of his composure. "Has Nyota - has Lieutenant Uhura's family been notified of her death?"

McCoy looks down as realization dawns. "Yeah," he says quietly. "Captain Pike informed them while he was doing the other notifications."

"I see," says Spock, and when McCoy looks up, Spock looks away. He had never imagined that McCoy could look so sympathetic, let alone towards him.

"Did you want to be the one to tell them?" McCoy asks.

"I've met many of her family members on multiple occasions," says Spock. "I thought perhaps they would prefer to receive the news from someone they were already familiar with."

"I'm sorry," McCoy repeats.

"It was only a thought," says Spock.

McCoy takes a half-step back towards Spock's desk. "You shouldn't be alone right now," he says. "Screw Pike, just come up to the _Enterprise_ so that you're not here alone on this goddamn unfeeling rock with a bunch of Vulcans who'll just tell you to suck it up with logic."

"You forget, Doctor," says Spock. "Vulcans are experts in loss." He looks up to meet McCoy's eyes, and McCoy shakes his head.

"Come up to the ship," McCoy says one last time, pleading.

"Thank you for conveying Captain Pike's message, Doctor," says Spock. "I will see you again on the _Enterprise_ 's departure date."

McCoy sighs. "Yeah. Guess I'll see you then."

x. 2260.68

"Commander Spock?" The call interrupts his meditation late enough that night to be more properly considered the next morning - Spock knows himself well enough to forfeit any attempts to sleep. The viewscreen in his small apartment flicks on without Spock accepting any call, and Spock frowns at the use of the override, particularly when a frazzled Yeardley proves to be the caller.

"Yeoman," says Spock, raising an eyebrow. "I see you've chosen to use the emergency override."

"I - yes, Commander, yes, I definitely did. Have you been watching the Starfleet news feeds?"

Spock glances at the glowing digital readout of his clock, on his nightstand a few feet away. "Not at this hour, no," he says, allowing his displeasure at the interruption to color his voice.

"You want to, sir," says Yeardley firmly. "You really, really want to."

Spock allows himself an irritated frown, but he says, "Computer, show Starfleet news feeds on screen two."

The additional screen blooms to life, and Spock is admittedly surprised to see that there is an active broadcast - the Federation offices on New Vulcan were deliberately located to mirror the Federation's official time zone for interstellar communications, so it is as late for the broadcaster as it is for Spock.

" - precisely what the evidence is, but an emergency tribunal - that's a Federation tribunal, not a Starfleet court-martial, we can now confirm - has been called for Admiral Marcus for charges that are not yet publicly available - " The very harried broadcaster gratefully accepts a mug slid across his desk towards him, and takes a moment to chug its contents, tilting the mug so far that only his wide, overwhelmed eyes are visible above the rim. When he's done, he lays it back down on the desk and says, "We can also confirm that Captain - formerly Admiral - Pike was the arresting officer, although given that Captain Pike and his ship are posted to New Vulcan at the moment, we can't explain why they're even on Earth. We can also confirm that Captain Pike was not alone while arresting Admiral Marcus, but that he was accompanied by a small team, believed to be linked to the explosions and phaser fire reported at Starfleet Headquarters in San Francisco - "

"Yeoman," says Spock, feeling slightly strangled. It's all he can manage. He knows, logically, that a small team involved in illicit activities, explosions, and phaser fire should not be a cause for hope, but somehow - 

"That's what I wanted to tell you, sir," says Yeardley. "I think your ride left without you."

Spock is not the ranking Starfleet officer on New Vulcan, or even the ranking officer in his department, but he has sufficient seniority that his presence will no doubt be required - 

" _Ay, Dios_ ," says the broadcaster quietly, and reaches for a PADD shoved across his desk towards him. "The list of charges against Admiral Marcus is now available to the public. It is...quite long," says the broadcaster, and Spock can watch his thumb sweep across the screen to scroll multiple times. "Very long. Okay. Starting at the beginning, the first charge is…" The broadcaster hesitates, and glances off-screen for confirmation. Then he turns back to the PADD and says, in a slightly wondering voice, "The first charge is treason against the United Federation of Planets. The second charge is attempted genocide of the Klingon people. The third charge is the attempted murder of Commanders James Kirk and Montgomery Scott, Lieutenants Hikaru Sulu, Carol Marcus, and Nyota Uhura, and Ensign Pavel Chekov. The fourth charge…"

 _Attempted_.

"Sir?" says Yeardley.

"They are alive," says Spock.

"...who, sir?" 

Through all of Spock's encounters with uncontrollable emotion, he has never felt so strongly the urge to laugh and cry at the same time.

"All of them," he says.

xi. 2260.79

Nyota meets him at the San Francisco shuttleport when Spock finally returns to Earth one and a half weeks later, and although they usually refrain from physical contact in public, Spock has barely seen her before her arms are around him and her fingers are threaded through his hair.

"You have no idea," she says, her voice muffled against his neck, "how happy I am to see you."

Spock drops his bags and returns the embrace, breathing her in - she smells, rather unsurprisingly, like the type of floor cleaner and handsoap used in Starfleet Headquarters, where she and the rest of the crew of the _Enterprise_ have been giving testimony for the past ten days. Errant hairs from her ponytail cling to his lips as he presses them against her head. He is aware that he should answer her, but for now the silence is sufficient.

Finally he draws away and looks at her. The stress and long days have taken a toll - there are lines at the corners of her eyes that he does not recognize, and a sallow tone to her skin that worries him. There is also a bruise fading just above her left eye. He gently runs his fingers over it, careful not to apply pressure.

"I got off easy," Nyota tells him, keeping one of her hands on his. "You should see Kirk. Well, technically McCoy's put him on medical house arrest, so maybe you can't see him - McCoy's only allowing him one visitor at a time because otherwise he gets too 'uppity.'"

Spock can practically hear McCoy spitting the word with irritation, and the impulse to smile returns. Instead he lets his hand trace down the side of Nyota's face, stroking down to the hinge of her jaw.

"I am unspeakably grateful for your survival," he manages to say, and realizes that he is, indeed, smiling after all.

Nyota smiles back. "You should've heard McCoy when he came back up to the ship without you. Apparently, you're more stubborn than he thought any sentient creature could be."

"I am always pleased to facilitate the discovery of novel facts," says Spock, and Nyota draws herself onto her toes to kiss him.

They return to Spock's San Francisco apartment, which is serviceable but bare of any signs of habitation. Spock's belongings and decorations are either in his Starfleet-issued duffel bag at his side or abandoned for Ambassador Spock to ship at a more opportune time. Once there, Nyota stands facing him for a long moment. Spock knows her well enough to understand that she is declaring her intentions nonverbally, and when he makes no move to to dissuade her, she once more wraps her arms around him. He returns the gesture, cradling the back of her head with his hand.

"We were worried," Nyota mumbles into Spock's shoulder, and Spock pulls away with a frown.

"You were concerned about me?"

Nyota examines his expression. "How much of the story do you know?"

"As much as has been made public," says Spock - in the chaos following Marcus's arrest, subspace relays had been reserved for official use due to volume. Spock had only managed to inform Nyota about his arrival in San Francisco by arguing, rightly, that he would require transportation from the shuttleport to his apartment.

Nyota sighs, and rests one of her hands on Spock's arm. "Our shuttlecraft _was_ attacked, that much was true, but by Starfleet- by one of Marcus's new Dreadnaught-class ships. We were passed some intel on the warp signature of the ship that attacked Qo'noS, and we tracked it to the _Vengeance_ in a shuttle. Getting off it ended up being more difficult than boarding it."

"Why not investigate in the _Enterprise_?" Spock asks.

Nyota shakes her head. "There were indications before that that it was a Starfleet ship, and if there was a conspiracy within Starfleet, then the fewer people who were targets, the better. Which turned out to be a good idea, since Marcus tried to destroy the shuttle once it became obvious that we knew. It was only because we had Scotty and Carol along that we weren't all killed."

"My understanding is that you played a part in that, as well," says Spock.

"It wouldn't matter how much I managed to fool the _Vengeance_ 's sensors if Carol hadn't been so familiar with their weapons, or if Scotty hadn't figured out how to mask _our_ warp signature," says Nyota. "At that point, it was pretty clear that Marcus would kill anyone who even _might_ know, so Pike played dumb even after we alerted him that we were going to ground."

"On New Vulcan."

Nyota gives half a smile. "It seemed like a good idea at the time. And Kirk was sure we'd have at least one ally there." 

"A familiar ally, perhaps," says Spock, and Nyota's smile grows into a full one.

"Kirk said the universe would explode if you knew, but you do, don't you."

"He is unaware of my knowledge," Spock says. "I see no reason to rectify this."

"The other Spock knew that his residence in the city was probably bugged - he's been a big enough player in Vulcan policy these days that there was no way Marcus would just ignore him - but he had another residence out in the countryside, and that's where we hid until the Enterprise could rendezvous with us. Which," Nyota adds, a twinkle in her eye, "is why McCoy tried so hard to get you up to the ship - up to the ship, where we knew we'd be safe to reveal everything to you."

"And I simply assumed he had been drinking his sorrows," says Spock. "He is lucky that he's a doctor, not an actor."

"Yeah, well, he was the only one that could actually come down - all the rest of us were supposedly dead." Nyota squeezes Spock's arm briefly in sympathy. "Anyway, we came back to Earth as fast as possible, interrupted a meeting to arrest Marcus, and ended up in a domestic shoot-out, which we luckily won. Although Jim decided the best way to open a door whose panels were on fire was to kick the control panel, which is why he's on crutches at the moment."

Spock tilts his head and looks at Nyota.

"What?" Nyota asks.

"You referred to the Commander as 'Jim,'" Spock says.

Nyota appears genuinely surprised. "Did I?"

"You did," says Spock, and then asks, "Are you attracted to him?"

Nyota frowns. "What kind of question is that?"

"A genuine one," says Spock.

Nyota watches him for a moment, and then her expression softens at whatever she sees there. "I have to admit, he _is_ a very attractive man, physically," she says. "Those big blue eyes, that muscle tone, the devil-may-care charm...the strangely erotic bruise he always seems to have right on his orbital socket." Nyota touches the skin just at the corner of Spock's eye for emphasis, and he represses a shiver in response. "And he's, surprisingly, not as much of a jerk once you catch him off-guard. God help you if he thinks he has something to prove, though." Nyota shifts her weight to the balls of her feet, drawing herself ever-so-slightly closer to Spock. "Are _you_ attracted to him?"

"Physical attraction is a secondary concern for Vulcans," Spock says.

"Not what I asked," says Nyota.

Spock hesitates, unsure of how he should respond - unsure, for that matter, of what would be his accurate response.

"One relationship," Nyota says. "I don't care how many people. Just something to think about." She once again lifts herself entirely onto her toes and bridges the gap between them for a gentle kiss, pressing her lips to his for only a moment. Then she pulls away and says, "You should go see him. He could probably use a visitor that isn't McCoy."

xii. 2260.79

"Bones, for the last time, I do _not_ need another casserole or whatever the hell you're trying to fob off on me this time!"

Spock opens his mouth to reply through the closed door, but finds himself at a loss for words - yet again. After a moment, Kirk's voice comes through the door again, resigned.

"Whoever's at the door, you're not Bones, are you?"

"No, Commander," says Spock, and he hears a low but fervent mutter from inside the apartment. He recognizes the cadence as one of Kirk's favorite curses. 

A moment later, the door slides open, and Spock is face-to-face with Kirk, who leans heavily against the doorframe with wide blue eyes and a burgeoning grin.

"Spock! I thought I recognized that logic. Come on in."

Spock follows Kirk into the apartment, frowning. "I said nothing particularly logical."

"It's how you talk," says Kirk, limping heavily as he heads towards the couch. 

"May I assist you with anything, Commander?" says Spock, watching. Kirk only allows the toes emerging from the clean white bandaging of his right foot to contact the ground, and even then puts no weight on that entire leg. Additionally, his left wrist is still in a brace, and the telltale red of a phaser graze is fading off the skin of his neck. "Walking, perhaps?"

"Nah, I'm good," says Kirk, finally reaching the couch. He pulls a cane from between the plush cushions and brandishes it triumphantly. "See? Good. Bones says another three weeks of treatments and PT and I'll be right as rain."

"May I ask how you acquired these injuries?" asks Spock. "Nyota explained the confrontations on the _Vengeance_ and in Starfleet Headquarters only in broad terms."

"Well, the wrist was on the _Vengeance_ ," says Kirk, leaning onto his cane. "It was a fistfight, actually - one of Marcus's security goons had my right hand pinned, and the only angle I had was a bad one. The doctors are letting that one heal naturally - apparently they want to focus on my foot. That one was just stupid," he admits. "Marcus had HQ rigged. Apparently he'd been getting more and more paranoid, go figure, and, well, on one end of the hallway there was fire, and on the other end there was more fire, but at least a control panel to open the door. In retrospect, kicking it was probably not the best idea."

"I am - relieved to hear of your recovery," says Spock.

Kirk looks away, then begins limping towards the couch. Spock follows. "Yeah. Sorry we couldn't bring you in on this - Bones tried, but we pretty much assumed that everything that wasn't the _Enterprise_ herself was bugged. And Ambassador Spock's second residence, obviously, but even then he had to leave a few in his primary residence so that Marcus wouldn't get suspicious."

Spock once again finds himself at a loss for words, but this time, based on the clear discomfort on Kirk's face, he is not alone. As Kirk sits on the couch, Spock sits on the edge of an armchair, and the silence rests between them.

Eventually Kirk says, "Did Pike send you my vid message?"

Spock tilts his head with inquiry. "Vid message?"

"I guess that's a no, then. Did they not make you do one? The video messages for your next-of-kin, or whoever else you want to send one to?"

"The practice may be understandably more popular on the front lines," says Spock, and Kirk nods.

"I guess that makes sense," he says. "Do you ever think about Nibiru?"

Spock begins to wonder if Kirk is under the influence of painkillers, but under the current circumstances is inclined to indulge him either way. "Yes. Frequently."

"I just - " says Kirk, then breaks off, watching Spock. Then he repeats, less fevered, "I just want you to know that I had to come for you because it wasn't right for you to die doing the right thing. That shouldn't be how Starfleet rewards the kind of thing that you did. You saved an entire species - the least we could do was save you back. That's the kind of Starfleet that I want to live in, and I figured - I figured that had to start with me. I'm not okay with a Starfleet that would say that a captain's duty is to do nothing while a good man, who just saved a whole planet..." Kirk breaks off and takes a steadying breath, before admitting, "while my _friend_ died."

Spock stares at him for a long moment, but once he is able to speak says, "The Starfleet you envision is certainly preferable to Admiral Marcus's."

Kirk laughs at that, and the emotional charge of the moment passes. "Speaking of all that, did you hear that Pike got promoted again?"

"I had not," says Spock, although he is unsurprised. "I take it he is once again an Admiral?"

"Yep," says Spock. "And, uh, I got promoted too. They gave the _Enterprise_ back to me, and word on the street is that they're so sick of me they're going to send me out into deep space for half a decade."

Spock can hardly think of what to say, but when he decides on the words, they are genuine and fully-meant. "It was well-earned. Congratulations."

Kirk grimaces. "Thanks, but - yeah, about that. See, I have a, uh, a bit of a dilemma."

Spock doesn't move. "Oh?"

"Yeah," Kirk continues. "See, I convinced Carol - Lieutenant Marcus, that is - or Doctor Marcus, I've heard her go by both. Anyway, the point is, I convinced her to take the position of Science Officer, but she's not actually interested in it."

Spock frowns at the perceived slight of his previous position. "Why not?"

"Well, she's a weapons specialist, you know? Science Officers have to oversee the entire scientific enterprise of the whole ship, and she's not interested in botany or astrometry unless there's a way to weaponize it. And aside from that, she hates away missions because there's nothing for her to detonate, and I want a Science Officer who can go investigate whatever weird readings we're getting from a planet."

Spock inclines his head, ever-so-slightly. "Perhaps another candidate would be more willing to fulfill such responsibilities."

"Yeah, well, speaking of that," says Kirk, leaning in towards Spock, "the thing is, I bent Sulu's arm into taking the position of First Officer, too, but he's not interested either. He made the - actually extremely valid - point that he wants a command of his own someday, and given how much I've been shaking up the admiralty recently, what with all the arrests and all, anyone with a really strong tie to me like being my First Officer doesn't exactly have a head start, you know?"

"So you're looking for a Science Officer who could also serve as First Officer, who is comfortable operating at the levels of specific anomalies as well as general oversight and has no command ambition of their own," says Spock.

"Yeah," says Kirk, and the light strikes his eyes to make them look bluer than ever as he watches Spock. "You know anyone like that?"

Spock must remind himself to breathe. He offered himself last time, and some part of him rebels at the idea of offering again, particularly when Kirk was, at least in part, why he was taken away from the _Enterprise_ in the first place. But pride is hardly logical, at least in this instance, and yet -

Spock keeps his voice neutral and cool as he says, "I am the only candidate I am aware of who fits all those criteria, Commander."

"Jim," Kirk insists.

" _Captain_ ," says Spock firmly, and it comes out almost as a challenge.

One corner of Kirk's mouth slowly lifts in the beginnings of a smile, and warmth floods his eyes. "Well, then," says Kirk, "Mr. Spock, would you consider - "

 _Mutual surrender_ , thinks Spock, and says, "Yes."

**Author's Note:**

> Potentially spoilery warnings: depictions of survivor's guilt and depression, canon-typical levels of violence, canon-typical levels of speciesist microaggressions directed at Vulcans and particularly Spock, implied kinky M/M sex (offscreen), and the temporarily faked deaths of most of the characters (Kirk, Uhura, Scotty, Chekov, Sulu, and a blink-and-you'll-miss-it cameo from Carol Marcus).


End file.
